CLXXXII. The Church built on a Rock, and secured against the Gates of Hell.

NOW let the Gates of Zion sing,
And challenge all her spiteful Foes:
She triumphs in her Saviour King,
In him, who from the Dead arose.

He is the Rock, on whom we rest,
And firm on that Foundation stand;
Divine Compassion fills his Breast,
His Word is sure, and strong his Hand.

Hell and its Host may rage in vain;
Vain are their Counsels, and their Pow'r;
Grim Death may marshall all his Train,
And boast the Conquest of an Hour.

Breathless and pale his Servants lie,
And know their former Place no more;
Their Children raise his Praises high,
And o'er their Fathers Dust adore.

Their Fathers Dust the LORD shall raise,
And burst the Barriers of the Grave;
Parents and Children join his Praise,
Who thro' Eternity can save.